


Beneath the Ice

by Inwiste



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Beleriand, Blood and Injury, Dark Magic, Dragons, F/F, Fate & Destiny, Gen, Ithilien, M/M, Magic, Original Character Death(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Spirits, Swords, The Northern Waste, Tol Morwen, Visions in dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24695395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inwiste/pseuds/Inwiste
Summary: A wave of dark energy spread across Arda as Sauron was destroyed, reaching as far as Valinor. While it destroyed many fell beasts, the darkness caused a being laying dormant under the ice of the Northern Waste to awaken.As one beast awakes, another object lying dormant for thousands of years rises in response to the threat that has emerged, though its master is long dead. Given no other choice, it reaches out to one of its master’s last living relatives in hopes of destroying the beast that has broken out of its crystalline prison to wreak havoc on Middle Earth once more…
Relationships: Arwen Undómiel & Elladan & Elrohir, Arwen Undómiel & Legolas Greenleaf, Arwen Undómiel & Maglor | Makalaurë, Arwen Undómiel & Original Female Character(s), Arwen Undómiel/Tauriel (Hobbit Movies), Celebrimbor | Telperinquar & Arwen Undómiel, Haldir of Lothlórien/Legolas Greenleaf, Original Female Character(s) & Celebrimbor | Telperinquar
Comments: 37
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some explanations before the fic: 
> 
> Gostir was one of Morgoth's many dragons, though nothing is really known about him besides this fact. Gurthang was the sword of Túrin Turambar, made from the sword Anglachel that was forged by Eöl the Dark Elf. Gurthang itself was reforged from Anglachel by the smiths of Nargothrond. I think that is it for now. 
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters except for OCs belong to the Tolkien Estate.

_ It was cold. Freezing, in fact. The chill emanating from the ice surrounding him seeped through his scaly armor and slithered into his core. He would shiver if he could move, but the ice had him completely immobilized. Deep breaths. His nostrils flared and he felt his core and throat heat slightly, steam escaping. He watched droplets form on the ice. Good. With each exhale, more ice melted and his immobility disappeared, though he only had a minute range of movement now. It was a risk he had to take. He inhaled once more and opened his mouth, letting a small burst of flame shoot out and watched with thinly veiled satisfaction as more ice turned to water and then evaporated in the heat of his flames. Finally. _

_ With one lunge he broke through the ice containing him and shot his flames high into the air. Yes! Freedom! He took flight and soared through the air for a time, only to be stopped short when a stabbing pain overtook his left wing, causing him to curl his wing in order to avoid the sharp wind touching his wound. His right wing could not keep him in the air and he spiraled. The ocean grew closer every second and he feared that he would hit the unforgiving water, but he was able to unfurl his left wing once more and use it to direct himself to the island nearby. It was a crash-landing, as the impact of his body meeting the grassy land caused dirt to fly everywhere. He skidded for a moment, his right wing clipping a stone monument and smashing it to pieces. However, the impact helped him slow down and he was able to dig his claws to the ground and stop. The island was unfamiliar to him, so was most of the land he had crossed. He remembered the battle and his body hurling towards the ice beyond Angband, then his memory blanked. Only the feeling of searing pain and a chilling sensation engulfing his body came to mind. It appeared that Beleriand was gone. Interesting. He would have to wait before he could leave this island, but it was no matter. He had waited this long underneath the ice. Time was on his side.  _

_ *** _

_ Light reflected onto the shards of his metal remains, a calming opposite to the evil it sensed passing over the mound that once held it. Danger. Danger was near. The presence was familiar, similar to an aura it had sensed thousands of years ago, though it was not the same. That evil was long gone, having fallen shortly before its master fell on his own sword. This was new. It needed to kill it, to slay whatever being had appeared near it.  _

_ Concentrating the energy and life that remained within its own remains to look for the ones who forged it many years ago yielded no useful results. Both had been slain thousands of years before, though one was reborn. She would be of no help to it now. Perhaps… _

_ It reached out once more. Did any relative of its former master exist on Middle Earth? It had to look. Only one who was related to its dead master could wield it without having a terrible curse befall them. A light appeared before it and the sleeping face of an elleth manifested within the brightness. Ah, so one did exist. Several did, though this one had the most power. Only she had any chance of wielding it, though even her power would be tested by both the evil presence residing on the island and the darkness within itself. _

_ *** _

Arwen had always had odd dreams, though recently it appeared that her subconscious was trying to tell her something. Her dreams were akin to visions, though they did not come from the Maiar blood within her. It was as if something else was influencing her or attempting to show her something. Something important. She could feel the urgency in her dreams, the whispering voices whose words were unintelligible to her. The dreams that had come to her over the past month mainly consisted of glimpses of ice, a sword, fiery eyes, and a dragon's fiery breath. At times she could see an elleth and ellon pounding away at a sword in an ancient forge, only for them to disappear as they turned towards her. 

_ Her body manifested in a forge, though she did not recognize the place. A lone elleth stood before her with her back turned. The elleth seemed to be writing in a journal judging by her movements. Less than a moment later, she straightened up, turned around, and stared right at Arwen. Could she see her? The woman looked incredibly familiar but she could not place her for a moment. Wait… It was the woman from her dreams! Her formal black robes looked out of place in the rather clean forge and the long knives strapped to her back only added to the oddity of her appearance. A painful-looking scar ran from her cheekbone to her chin, though Arwen could feel the veil of the glamour shimmering over the scar, emanating from the silver ring with opal gemstone embedded in the center that the woman wore on the ring finger of her right hand.  _

_ The woman gave her an unreadable look as if she were searching for something that she could not find. Another moment passed before the woman spoke. _

_ “It is time, young one. The dragon Gostir, spawn of Morgoth, has finally broken out of his icy prison in the Northern Waste and plans to wreak havoc on Middle Earth for both revenge and the bloodlust suppressed by his long slumber. Go to Imladris and find my notebook. Only then will you understand the mission you must undertake,” the woman said. Her eyes betrayed nothing and her face was blank.  _

_ “What? I do not understand. This dream feels familiar and you feel familiar but I do not know what is happening. I do not know who you are,” Arwen cried, panic rising within her.  _

_ She did not understand the elleth’s words. Why was this dragon so important? Smaug had been the final great dragon and he was slain by King Bard of Dale, though at the time of the dragon’s death he was known as Bard the Bowman. Adar had told her and her brothers that all of the original spawn of Morgoth had been slain in the War of Wrath. Their descendants had escaped death and continued to wreak havoc, but they were nothing compared to the likes of Ancalagon and Glaurung. A dragon from the First Age would be a terrible threat, but was this even real? Was her mind playing tricks on her and this outside influence was simply something that she had imagined?  _

_ The woman did not answer her question. Instead, she gave her another unreadable look before essentially repeating her earlier words. “My notebook holds the key. Only Gurthang can pierce Gostir’s scales. The dragon still sleeps, recuperating from his wounds and his time under the ice, but he shall wake up soon enough. Once awake, he will wreak havoc on Middle Earth and no weapon shall be able to kill him except for the weapon of Túrin. Time is not on your side, young Arwen.”  _

_ The forge faded away and Arwen fell screaming into the darkness beneath her feet. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arwen and Legolas discuss her odd dreams while a letter arrives from the Grey Havens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm, I don't think I have any notes for this chapter but I truly can't remember. Let me know in the comments if something is missing or needs clarification!

Arwen woke up panting and clawing at her sheets, desperate for something to hold on to. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she slowly realized she was back in her room in Ithilien. A glance to her side revealed that Tauriel was still fast asleep. The corners of her lips curled up into a small smile at the sight of her mate clutching their covers as she always did when she slept in their bed. Thankfully, her odd dreams had not awoken her. As softly as she could manage, she slid out of their bed and pulled on her robe before leaving their room.

The late hour meant that the corridors were vacant and she could move around freely. Before long, she had made it to one of the many gardens Legolas had cultivated since founding the elven settlement near Minas Tirith, far away from her suffocating room. Ithil had reached the highest peak of the night sky and would soon begin its descent, though Arwen did not mind how late it was. If she had stayed in bed, she would be staring at the ceiling, and the moon was much more interesting to look at, in her opinion, making the choice easy for her. 

Still…

Her dream tonight had unsettled her even more than the other dreams combined had over the course of the past month. The woman was so familiar, not just because of the dreams where she had been present but because of something else. She knew she had recognized her face though she could not place it. That was the least of her concerns. If something had awakened under the ice, a fell beast from the first age, then everyone was in danger. But why her? Why relay this message to her? Not only did she live far away from Imladris, she knew incredibly little about dragons. There were others who were much more qualified than her. 

She laid down on the bench and closed her eyes. 

“Uhh, Arwen? What are you doing out here?” Her eyes snapped open and immediately closed at the brilliance of the rays of the early morning sun. She must have fallen asleep soon after she closed her eyes. Slowly, she moved her hand over her face and opened her eyes once more, finding the shade emanating from her hand satisfactory. She swung her legs over the side of the bench and sat up slowly, groaning in discomfort. “I fell asleep out here, apparently. What are you doing here? It is quite early.” 

Legolas smiled at her grouchy tone. His friend was most definitely the opposite of a morning person. “I rise with the sun, my friend. I love to wake up early and take a walk through the gardens. It is an excellent way to clear my thoughts before my day truly begins. Imagine my surprise when I found you passed out on the bench looking quite undignified.” His grin widened and a mischievous look appeared in his eyes. “Though, I am sure that your brothers would be quite interested to hear about their sister snoring in the gardens so early in the morning.” 

“If you value your hair, I suggest you refrain from telling them,” Arwen grumbled. 

His blue eyes widened and he held up his hands as a sign of peace as panic settled on his face. “Do not be so hasty, my friend. I was simply making a joke. Your brothers will never hear of this as long as no harm comes to my hair.” 

Arwen smirked and offered a seat on the bench to Legolas, who gladly accepted it. “I accept those terms,” she responded smugly.

“May I ask what you were doing out here in the first place? I know you love to look at the stars and watch the night sky, but you always go to bed at some point.” As his voice trailed off, his tone lost its mirth and the bright energy that Legolas almost always exuded was dampened. “Is something bothering you? A month ago, your behavior began to change and you have been looking more tired with each passing day. I am worried about you, Arwen. You can always talk to me if there is something wrong,” he finished quietly. 

A moment passed before she responded. Her mind was at war on whether or not she should tell her friend about her odd dreams. Part of her believed he could have valuable insight and possibly identify this mysterious woman, but another part worried about dragging him into something she believed to be her own mess. Eventually, though, the part that wished to confide in her friend emerged victoriously and she made up her mind. “I have been having these odd dreams. I do not know if I can even call them that. They are more akin to visions. Sometimes it was a sword reminiscent of the smithing techniques of the First Age, or an unfamiliar dragon with eerie silver eyes, or an elleth and ellon with their backs turned towards me while they pounded away at something in an unfamiliar forge. That is, until last night.” 

“What happened last night?” Legolas asked quietly.

“The elleth from my previous dreams appeared before me with her back turned, though instead of pounding away at something she was writing. I believe she was writing in some sort of journal, though I could not tell. After a moment, she stopped and turned towards me, looking me straight in the eyes. A deep scar ran from her left cheekbone to her chin, though it was clear that there was some sort of glamour emanating from a ring that she wore on her right hand. She told me that I had a mission. A dragon named Gostir, who had been sleeping since the First Age, has awakened and will be a great danger to all those residing on Middle Earth. He lays dormant at the moment, though he will not remain this way. This notebook that is currently in Imladris is supposed to hold the key to defeating Gostir, though I do not really understand why. She also mentioned Gurthang, the sword of Túrin Turambar. Only it can pierce the dragon’s scales and defeat it once and for all.”

The warmth from the sun’s rays did nothing to chase away the cold that Arwen suddenly felt within her body. Legolas, noticing his friend’s shivering, draped an arm around her and pulled her closer to him. “I do not believe that these dreams, or visions, are random. My father told me stories about the dragons of old and how they were never truly sure that all of the original spawn of Morgoth had been slain. If one has survived, then it presents a great danger to everyone.” Legolas stopped talking, his eyes searching their surroundings before settling on a distant point on the horizon. “Perhaps we should discuss this somewhere private. Let us go to my office and keep talking there. This is not something that should be public information.” 

“Agreed,” Arwen replied, quickly getting off the bench and following Legolas inside. The walk from the gardens to Legolas’ office was silent, as both elves had quite a bit on their minds. A dragon...a dragon would be a force of complete destruction that would easily destabilize the peace that the free peoples of Middle Earth had fought so hard to attain. A letter with the stamp of the Grey Havens sat on Legolas’ desk when they entered the office. 

“A messenger must have arrived with this letter late last night,” Legolas mused. “I wonder what news comes from the Grey Havens. It must be incredibly important if Círdan has decided to reach out to me. The elf is not known for sending many letters carrying news pertaining to the well-being of Middle Earth. His private letters always have his own stamp on them. This must be official business.” 

“Then open it,” Arwen said, getting slightly impatient. “Perhaps he has news of Gostir and the contents of the letter shall confirm what I have seen in my dreams.” A large part of her wished that her dreams were just dreams and that this Gostir was simply a figment of her imagination. It was far better than the alternative…

She watched as Legolas carefully broke open the seal and perused the contents of the letter, her heart sinking as his eyebrows furrowed and a solemn look overtook his face. “What is it, Legolas?” 

He slowly closed the letter and put it down on his desk before turning to Arwen. “Círdan sent a letter urging you to go to Imladris immediately and find the notebook. After you retrieve it, you must go to the Grey Havens where Círdan will give you the information you need to find Gostir. He insists that you do not travel alone, and instead, you take a group with you. Your brothers must go as well.” 

“What? May I see the letter?” Without waiting for a reply, she walked past Legolas and picked the letter up off of the desk and read it herself. 

_ Dear Arwen,  _

_ It has been quite some time since we last spoke. I write to you and Legolas for I have urgent news concerning your mission to find Gostir. I know that you are confused by your dreams and this message will most likely confuse you more, but time is of the essence. You must go to Imladris and find the notebook. Only there will you find the information that you will need to defeat Gostir. After you locate the notebook, you will go to the Grey Havens, and I will give you the location of Gostir and the other tools that you shall need to continue your mission.  _

_ I insist that you do not travel alone, Arwen. Gostir is a dangerous foe. Your brothers must go with you on this journey and I suggest that others go as well. Please heed my advice. It shall prove useful to you later on.  _

  * _Círdan the Shipwright_



“This is Círdan’s writing. I recognize both it and the seal to be legitimate,” Legolas said, breaking the tense silence hanging in the room. He did not know what else he could say, as he highly doubted that his words would comfort Arwen. Instead, he settled for a soft hug, relaxing slightly when Arwen sighed in relaxation and wrapped her arms around his midsection. “I will go with you. No matter what, you will not be alone.” 

“Thank you, Las,” she whispered.

***

“I sent the letter, Lord Ulmo. Lady Arwen should have received it by now. I used a messenger hawk to send it faster,” Círdan said. He sat on the sandy beach watching the sunset while relating the news to Ulmo. He and the Vala had been as close as one could be with a god for many years, meaning that Círdan was not surprised when the Vala reached out to him one day and asked him to deliver a message to Lady Arwen. He often fulfilled small tasks and other duties that Ulmo could not do, as he was not supposed to intervene in the affairs of Middle Earth and its inhabitants. As soon as he heard about the emergence of Gostir, Círdan sought the counsel of Ulmo, only to hear the Vala ask him to wait and do nothing about the dragon on Tol Morwen. 

“Good. Hopefully, she will listen to the letter and her dreams. Only in Imladris shall she find the answers she seeks,” the smooth voice replied. 

“Did you send the letter?” Círdan spun around at the sound of Maglor behind him. The elf’s cloak fluttered in the breeze along with the stray strands of hair that escaped his messy bun. The elf had been staying in the Grey Havens ever since Elrond had sailed, finding it to be much more peaceful than anywhere else on Middle Earth. Círdan did not mind either way, as Maglor’s company was quite nice, especially as the number of elves remaining in both the Havens and elsewhere continued to dwindle. 

“I did. It is up to Arwen now,” Círdan replied, staring at the waves lapping gently against the shore. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arwen has a disturbing dream the night before they arrive in Imladris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...it's been a while.
> 
> I hope to be updating more regularly now that Possession is coming to an end, but we'll see. This story is definitely going to be finished, it's just a question of when. 
> 
> Big thanks to Ilya_Boltagon for listening to all of my ideas for this story and helping me make them into a cohesive plot :)

To Arwen’s surprise and relief, it had not taken much convincing for Tauriel, Haldir, and her brothers to agree to accompany her and Legolas to Imladris and possibly further. A week after the letter had arrived, they set out on their journey, choosing to go through the Gap of Rohan to travel through Imladris, as it was the fastest way to the Peredhil children’s former home. 

The journey itself was not arduous or taxing. The land had been purged of evil after the destruction of Mordor and fall of Sauron, making their trip rather pleasant, or as close as it could come to such a thing with the foreboding dreams Arwen had been having and the tense air surrounding their party. 

After 30 days and nights, they finally made it to the borders of Imladris. Rather than continuing onwards so they would reach the city in the middle of the night, the group decided to set up camp near one of the abandoned guardhouses and rest there for the night. Arwen stayed up long past the others, finally falling asleep watching the stars twinkle high above her head. 

***

_ Darkness flooded her vision as she came to her senses. A soft glow illuminated the room, revealing a floor covered in a fine layer of water, though the rest of the space was devoid of objects.  _

_ “Where am I?” Arwen murmured. “What is this place?”  _

_ The only answer she received was silence. She was alone in here, oddly enough. In her previous dreams she had always been in the presence of others, even if they were not aware of her. It was clear that she was alone here, though. She could not sense anyone else.  _

_ “Well,” she sighed. “Perhaps there’s something beyond this room.” The water quietly splashed under her feet, though she never felt anything stain her cloth shoes. The room itself seemed to drag on for ages, if it was even that. Arwen truly was not sure.  _

_ Eventually, she came to a halt. She knew it was a dream, it had to be. _

_ Out of nowhere, a soft ringing sound cut through the silence and echoed across the chamber. Arwen jerked upright and stumbled slightly before righting herself. That sound, where had it come from?  _

_   
_ _ She took off in a run, gasping quietly as a figure appeared in the distance, one arm outstretched with a sword in hand. A cloak hid the man’s feature while a helmet obscured his face from view, though the helmet was eerily familiar to her. The design was dwarven, though it was unlike any dwarven helmet she had ever seen. A dragon sat atop the helmet and glinted gold in the dim light as the man turned.  _

_ The man did not acknowledge her and the distance between them did not shorten, even as she sped up. As he swung his sword, faint whispers came out of the silence. Arwen tried her best to discern the words though it sounded more akin to faint mumbling than actual phrases. She turned her head back to the man, only to see him on his knees, the sword tip pointing towards him.  _

_ “No…” she murmured. “Stop! Don’t do it!” Arwen shouted, though the man paid her no heed. She pushed herself to go faster though it did no good, she was still too far away.  _

_ As he drove the sword into himself Arwen screamed once more, only for the dream to dissolve before her very eyes.  _

_ *** _

“Arwen! Arwen, are you okay?”

When she came to, she was lying in Tauriel’s arms with her brothers standing over her, concern etched in everyone’s eyes. The sun was only peeking over the horizon, though Legolas and Haldir’s bedrolls were already gone. 

  
“I’m fine,” Arwen responded absent-mindedly. 

“Arwen, you were screaming in your sleep and you wouldn’t wake up even as we shook you,” Elladan exclaimed, moving away from her as she slowly sat up. “What happened to you?” 

They would not leave her alone until she told them and she knew Elladan and Elrohir would not react well to her dream. They were incredibly suspicious of the quest bestowed on her and this would only serve to fuel these feelings. 

“I had a dream about a man, one who looked eerily familiar but I still cannot place him. He...he impaled himself on his own sword before I could stop him,” Arwen said quietly. “It just surprised me. I’m okay now.” 

Elrohir stared at her with an expression reminiscent of their father’s infamous incredulous glare, before turning away and sighing. “This is bad. All of this. If we were not a few hours ride from Imladris I would suggest that we turn back.” 

Arwen resisted the urge to glare at her brother, biting her cheek in an attempt to keep quiet. Thankfully, at that moment, Legolas and Haldir returned. 

“It should only take us a few hours to make it to the main house. Do you wish to eat before we leave?” Legolas asked, meeting Arwen’s eyes for a brief moment before turning away. Tauriel shook her head while Elladan and Elrohir focused on rolling up their bedrolls. 

“I think we should go. There will be time for us to eat at the main house,” Arwen replied, her brothers rising from their tasks and nodding in agreement. 

They packed up their camp in silence before continuing their journey. Legolas and Haldir occasionally spoke as they rode while the rest of their group remained silent, tension simmering in the air. The ride itself was both nostalgic and beautiful. The wood was as lush and vibrant as it had been during her last journey, much to her relief. Vilya’s absence had not affected the nature surrounding their former home. 

Before long, the pavilion came into view and they rode their horses through the entrance, dismounting soon after they stopped. No one came to greet them, though Arwen did not expect there to be elves in Imladris, least of all in the house. King Thranduil was almost finished with transporting books and other important items to Eryn Lasgalen and many of the elves assisting in the project had gone with the last transport, intending to come back after winter had passed. They quickly led their horses to the stables, pleased to find fresh straw in the stalls and the grooming tools put away neatly in the cabinets. It took them several moments to get their horses settled down, though once they did, they immediately left and went to the Hall of Fire and set their packs down there. Haldir opted to stay for a while to check on his own mount who had suffered from a cut to the leg when he had passed a sharp fallen branch. 

“I will start in the main library. Legolas, Tauriel, could you please check Erestor’s and my adar’s offices? They may have information there. Elladan, Elrohir-”

“We will stay here and sort through our packs, Arwen. Once we are done, we will join them in the search,” Elladan replied sharply.

Arwen resisted the urge to snort at her brother’s antics. Now was not the time. She turned on her heel and quickly left the halls, Legolas and Tauriel following her before splitting off to check the offices. 

***

“You should give your sister a chance, Elladan. These happenings are not trivial. She is playing a vital role in this quest.” 

Elladan whirled around at the familiar soft voice that had cut through the tense silence following the rant to his brother. Maglor stepped out of the entrance to the Hall of Fire, an apple in hand.

“Daerada?” Elrohir gasped. “What are you doing here?” 

“Helping your sister. Time is not on our side, Elrohir. If she does not reach her destination in time, we will all be in danger.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arwen searches the library for the notebook from her dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, things have been crazy lmao. Updates will probably come every few weeks for this piece. I hope you enjoy this chapter! Let me know what you think in the comments!

The once homely library had become a vast empty space sparsely populated with the books that had been left for the final trip from Imladris to Eryn Galen. Perhaps if she concentrated, Arwen could see Erestor shelving new acquisitions as Glorfindel followed him around, the two of them exchanging quiet remarks in Quenya. Now was not the time, though. 

Her footsteps echoed in the empty passageways between bookshelves as she methodically perused each shelf. Most were empty now but she did not have a reference point, leaving her with no other option except to check every inch of the library in hopes of finding the elusive notebook. 

Arwen had just reached the third row of bookshelves when a quick flash of silver in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She whirled around only to find an empty pedestal behind her. A vase had been there before if she remembered correctly, a rather ugly one. Still, hadn’t there been something there? In her peripheral vision, she could have sworn that the flash had been light glinting off of armor. 

“I must be losing my mind,” Arwen murmured. “The shadows that dance across the walls have suddenly come to life before my tired eyes.” 

If there were someone here, she would have heard it. It was impossible for even an elf to go entirely unnoticed in a place that echoed such as much as this one. The softest of sounds were amplified on the smooth stone and bounced through the empty shelves. And if one was wearing armor, it would inevitably make a sound as the metal shifted. Arwen took one long glance at her small space. There was nothing here. Most likely, there had never been anyone or anything in her proximity. 

The next shelf was slightly more populated than the last, though that said very little. Where there had only been emptiness, there were now several books of Gondorian poetry neatly stacked to the side. She was surprised that Erestor had not taken those first, as he held a great fondness for the poetry and works of men.

“Damn it!” Arwen cursed as she picked up one book, only for it to slip out of her hands and fall to the floor with a dull thud. A slight tremor ran through her hands as she kneeled down to retrieve the book, though she disregarded it. Nervousness was unbecoming, even if she was alone. Her brothers were looking for any reason imaginable to discourage her from continuing this quest, and if they were to see this…

It was nothing.

Arwen carefully knelt on the ground and slowly grabbed the book, taking a quick glance around the floor as she did. It was coated with a fine layer of dust and she noted the growing light spots on her black leggings with dismay. She did not want to think about the lecture that her father would give her if he saw her practically laying on the floor, book in hand, whipping her head around in all directions like an animal on a hunt. Her hand grazed the underside of the shelves before she jerked it away. Arwen had always found it odd how the bookshelves rested on the floor but the bottom shelves were always empty, giving one the ability to see through to the next aisle. As she expected, the floor was empty except for a pair of armor-plated boots pointing towards her from across the shelves. 

She shot up at the sight of the boots, cursing softly as she knocked her head into the shelves before brushing herself off and running to the next area. It would be impossible for someone to enter the room and stand so close to her without her recognizing their presence almost immediately, especially if they were wearing armor. Her eyes, expecting to find a person standing before her as she skidded to a stop in the aisle, found nothing. The dust had clearly not been disturbed and there were no footprints present beside her own. That was until she noticed the book on the floor. 

The cover was mottled and worn with time, though traces of the blue dye used still lingered. Arwen slowly approached it and picked it up with both hands, taking her time in turning the cover and glancing inside the book itself. Despite its obvious age and the wear on the outside, the pages were surprisingly well-preserved, though she could sense a spell faintly lingering on the pages. There were both entries written in Quenya and Sindarin, though the Quenya’s ink had faded more than the Sindarin. Half-finished sketches and scribbled mathematical equations also decorated the notebook, more designs than Arwen had ever seen on schematics. 

“This is incredible!” Arwen softly exclaimed. The pages blurred and she eventually stopped when the rough outline of a sword came into view, half-obscured by dark blotches that covered the page. 

“King Orodreth has ordered Celebrimbor and I to craft a sword out of the remains of the dark creation of Eöl on behalf of Túrin Turambar. A refusal was not an option. For its abilities and past, Celebrimbor and I suggested the name ‘Gurthang’. I do not wish to be a part of this, but it appears that I have no choice and must instead pray that misfortune does not befall us like it has all others who have come in contact with this wretched sword,” she read. “This has to be the book.” 

More information was revealed as she perused the pages, both information about Gurthang and a variety of other subjects, even a section on prosthetics for missing limbs. Now was not the time for her to be caught up in the content of the pages. Not when the others were most likely still looking through the offices and other rooms, which was now unnecessary. She had obtained what she needed. 

Arwen carefully closed the book and walked up the aisle before turning, her stride mirrored the reflective glass of the library windows, though as she took a quick glance through her peripheral vision, she did not see herself. It was an elleth close to her height and frame, though it wasn’t right. It couldn’t be her. She slowly turned towards her reflection, watching as it turned with her, only for her to come face to face with herself. Arwen blinked in the mirror and even waved, though it was clear to her that it was simply her reflection. 

The once safe haven of the library was now a shell of its former self. It felt as if eyes were on her at all times, even as Arwen moved towards the entrance of the room at an increasingly quick pace. Whatever comfort she had once found there was long gone, replaced by a fine layer of dust that she gazed upon once more as she gingerly shut the door behind her. 

***

It had been a pleasant surprise to find her daerada conversing with her brothers while Tauriel, Legolas, and Haldir spoke quietly amongst themselves. After a short greeting ー it had been ages since they last met, Arwen carefully held the book aloft for the others to see. Mixtures of shock and amazement met her as she slowly put the book down on one table before sitting down herself. 

“I found the notebook in the library, the one that contains the information we seek,” Arwen said. “Not only that, it has countless other designs and entries. I believe that I even saw notes on the Noldorin lamps of the First Age, the ones lost to time. But that is not important at the moment. Now that we have this, we can continue onwards to the Havens. If you are comfortable with this, we can leave tomorrow morning.” 

Murmurs of assent spread through the group and the others all nodded. Her daerada’s constant stolen glances at the book in her hand were not lost on her, though it was not of the utmost concern to her. Time was of the essence, especially now that she had found the key to reconstructing the sword. All that was missing was the sword itself, and she believed that Círdan held the key to the weapon’s final resting place.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arwen runs into several obstacles when she reads the notebook in hopes of learning the secrets of reforging Gurthang.

Mithlond was only a week’s ride away when Arwen hit a dead end in the translations. The writer’s identity was still a mystery to her, and nothing in the notebook ever revealed her true name. There were details of what she presumed to be her life, yes, but nothing that was truly of use to her. King Orodreth commissioned the sword and the smith received aid from Celebrimbor in forging it, as they were unable to refuse. Other than that, nothing. 

Well, not nothing. The bonding process for the sword had been plainly described, as they melted it down and used drastically different molds, remaking it in a Noldorin style. They were preparing to use a heat treatment on the sword and then the next entry was full of odd symbols Arwen did not recognize. It was certainly not military code, though that did not narrow the options down enough for her to definitively choose a cipher and attempt to crack the code. Her greatest fear was that it was a unique pattern, one that would be impossible to discern without the original maker’s help. If that were the case…

“Arwen, are you alright? You look upset.” A soft hand landed on her shoulder and the familiar warmth of her betrothed was soon pressed against her side. They had not had much time to talk on the journey, much to Arwen’s sadness. Quenya was not Tauriel’s forte and despite the need for her help, there was not much that the Silvan elf could do to help her in the translation aspect of the notebook. She was slowly teaching the other elf, though it was taking them quite some time. Ancient scholarly Quenya like this only gave Tauriel a headache whenever she attempted to read it with Arwen. 

“My translations were going incredibly well, but I’ve hit a snag. A large one. The rest of the entries about what I presume to be Gurthang are in an odd code made up entirely of symbols I have never seen. Times like these are when I wish Erestor was here. He could probably decipher it in under a minute,” Arwen said. She watched her daeradar flinch slightly at the mention of the counselor’s name, something that did not come as a surprise to her. The two of them had never gotten along. Erestor was almost always a calm and patient elf, though the presence of her daeradar brought out a different, more belligerent side of him. The hostility was only mitigated by the presence of others, as Erestor would not abandon civility even though he clearly despised Maglor for reasons of his own. As far as she knew, they did not interact outside of official settings. “Daeradar, could you take a look at this? Perhaps you recognize it.” 

He shifted in his seat and turned to look at her without meeting her eyes. “I would be happy to do so, though I doubt that I will be of much help to you. The only codes from the First Age I remember are the ones I used to communicate with my brothers.” 

“I would argue that you would be even more valuable because of this. Based on the differing handwriting, I believe that Celebrimbor wrote or added onto part of these entries with the same code. It is possible that he decided to use one of your systems to ensure that no one could read it,” Arwen responded. “We are only a week’s ride away from Mithlond and I believe that I have only read half of the entries on Gurthang and its forging. At this point in time, I believe that it would not hurt to see if anyone recognizes this pattern.” 

Maglor looked at her once more and she watched as he sighed and nodded in assent before reaching out and taking the book from her. One hand was splayed across the spine and covers as he slowly turned each page, taking great caution not to damage the already fragile paper. To Arwen, it seemed that he was treating it with more care than anyone else, including herself. The indent between his brows increased with each passing moment until he closed the journal with a soft thud and gave it back to her. Even in the soft light of the fire, her daeradar looked white as a sheet. A haunted look covered his face and made him look aged beyond his years, much to her worry. What did he just read?

“When he was in Nargothrond before his father and uncle were banished, they would send us letters in a special code to ensure that no one could use the information in the letters against them. Celebrimbor invented the system. Arwen, there is a reason that these entries are written in code. What they did...” Maglor trailed off as he pulled his cloak closer to him. “Are you sure you want to know?” 

“Why? What did the journal say?” Arwen asked as she leaned closer. “I need to know, daeradar. If I am to reforge the sword, I must know what they did to construct it in the first place.” 

“In that case, I will need the journal again.” He took the book offered to him and opened it to the page where the coded entries began, though Arwen stopped him before he could speak. 

“I would rather that we go elsewhere to read this. I want to hear this alone,” Arwen said. 

Elladan, who had previously been silent, frowned at his sister’s words. “Arwen, you cannot be serious. Why do you want to be alone?” Elrohir nodded in assent.

Tauriel, Legolas, and Haldir shifted in their seats, suddenly looking incredibly uncomfortable with the events unfolding before them. 

“The contents of this notebook are not something that you need to be concerned with, Elladan. This information is for me. I promise that I will tell you later,” she replied, satisfaction curling in her chest as her brothers sighed and agreed. 

Her words had mollified the others enough for her and Maglor to leave the camp and walk for a short time before taking refuge at a small pond far from earshot. Her daeradar sat down on a rock and she took a seat across from him, the moonlight giving them ample light to see. 

“Arwen, I will ask you once more. Are you positive that you wish to know what these next entries say?” Maglor asked with a somber tone. The serious expression on his face did a poor job of concealing the nervousness in his eyes, much to Arwen’s curiosity. Whatever was in the entries was clearly disturbing. She needed to know. 

“I do. Please, tell me. And after this, please show me how to read this code so I can write these entries down in my own book,” she replied. 

“Very well,” Maglor sighed before opening the book again and starting with the first entry, his soft words cutting through the soft silence of the night. “It is night, now. Our attempts to quench the sword in the past few days had been unsuccessful and Celebrimbor and I grew worried. Neither oil nor water dampened the flames and we still do not know why this phenomenon is occurring, though we did find a way to stop it. While handling the chisel knife we have chosen for engravings, Celebrimbor sliced his palm open and some of the blood dripped onto the blade that we left in the bath in hopes of extinguishing the flames. Where the blood made contact with the sword, the flames dampened and we could see the blade once more. In response to this odd occurrence, I held the sword aloft and Celebrimbor allowed more of the blood to spill onto the blade. The same event occurred. The fire went out and the blade turned black once more, though the metal quickly heated up due to the temperature of the rest of the blade. It was a foolish choice, but we saw no other option. Even though the blade had remained at a critically high temperature far longer than suitable, the metal did not sustain any cracks or damage. To quench the sword,” 

Maglor suddenly stopped and looked at her once more, his face twisted with worry. “Are you sure you wish to know?” 

Arwen forced down her nervousness and nodded. “I do.” 

He sighed heavily and continued, his fingers trembling slightly as he turned the page. “To quench the sword, we emptied the tub of water and filled it with our blood. It took us several days to fulfill the process, but no one ever became aware of our plans. Earlier today, we tried again to quench the sword. Steam rose up as the flames were finally extinguished and we were forced to turn away despite the protective gear we donned. When we looked once more, the blade had cooled, though the blood in the container had disappeared, as if the sword itself had absorbed it. I did not believe it to be possible, but the meteoric iron now appears several shades darker than before, as if it swallows all light around it. I am happy that we are almost finished with the process, though my general unease continues to grow. When I hold the weapon, my scars suddenly ache and the stump where my leg once resided hurting most of all. This sword is truly cursed, though we have come too far to stop now. Even if we were to tell the others of the true nature of the sword, I doubt that Orodreth and Túrin would be dissuaded from this foolish cause. From here onwards, I will write my entries in this code, for only Celebrimbor and my brother will recognize it here in Nargothrond, though I will never allow onóro to read this. He worries for me already, I do not wish to distract him more. I grow weary now and the pain in my leg continues to increase. I must visit the healer’s wing and make sure that nothing has happened. As long as I live, I will never allow another sword such as this to be created. This single sword has already become a sin of mine, I will not allow another to taint the already-darkening world.” 

A silence fell upon them as Maglor finished reading and closed the journal. The lump in her throat had long since fallen into her stomach, adding to the nausea building in her stomach. Never had she imagined that blood had been used to reforge the sword. Yet it was her only option unless she could find another way. But if two of what appeared to be the best elven smiths of Middle Earth could not, how could she? A difficult choice faced her and her decision was only made more difficult by her daeradar’s clear disapproval. 

“Please don’t tell the others yet. I need time to think about this,” she said quietly. “I never knew such a price was paid to forge Gurthang.” 

She watched as Maglor moved and put the journal in her hands once more before standing. “I promise that I will not, though they will find out eventually, Arwen. You know what the right choice is, I know this much. Take as much time as you need, here. When you return to camp, I will have the code written down for you so you can decipher the remaining entries.” With a final glance at her, Maglor left the pond and quickly melted into the shadows of the woods. 

Arwen knew what the right choice was, though it was different from what her daeradar wished for her to do. Only Gurthang could kill Gostir, and the sword could only be forged with blood. Sacrifice was a necessary part of life. She would not allow the inhibitions of others and her own fear to stop her. Her mind was made up. 

“Forgive me, daeradar,” Arwen murmured as she left the pond behind, returning to the camp as she clutched the notebook close to her chest. This was her only hope at reforging the sword. Failure was not a choice that she had the luxury to make. Not now, not in Mithlond, and not when she would drive Gurthang into the heart of the beast, vanquishing the dragon once and for all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Daeradar" is Sindarin for "grandfather" while according to elfdict.com, "onóro" is a Quenya word for brother (of blood-kinship).


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arwen has a disturbing dream.

Most dreams had an element of surrealism that distinguished them from reality, at least for Arwen. Even the dreams that had begun several months ago, the one that prophesied her quest to kill Gostir were immediately distinguishable. However, something here had felt different from the moment she opened her eyes. She was walking through a hallway lit by a soft glow emanating from the lanterns that hung on the pristine stone walls, the journal held tightly in her left hand. The tears and creases in the worn leather had vanished, much to her surprise. The cover was a rich blue and the yellow tint was gone from the pages. Perhaps this was what the journal had looked like thousands of years ago when it was still in the possession of its original owner.

Her legs continued to move on their own accord, finally stopping in front of a large wooden door with ornate leaf patterns carved into the wood. Before her hand was able to even move onto the handle, the door swung open and she walked in, gasping softly as her surroundings took the shape of a large hall with columns hewn of quartz and marble, royal blue banners decorated with a golden crest filling the spaces between them. 

A blonde elf sat on the throne and she could see his mouth moving, most likely addressing the elves kneeling before him, though she could not hear what he was saying. A man stood to the right of the throne, hands clasped behind his back in a familiar military posture, one Glorfindel often stood in when formality was required. With each passing second, she moved closer to the throne and watched the irritated faces on the two kneeling elves become clearer as the elf with silver hair gesticulated wildly, his mouth moving faster than his hands. The elleth remained silent, a frown sitting on her delicate features. Arwen could see the scar again under the glamour. The thick pink tissue looked painful, stretching as she spoke, though the elleth did not make any indication that she was in any discomfort or pain. 

Soon after she moved closer to the elleth, she felt a pair of eyes on her. The man to the right of the throne looked engrossed in the conversation, exchanging what looked like heated remarks with the elleth, but his stormy eyes were focused on her, following her movements. Before her eyes, he raised one gloved hand and pointed towards a set of large ornate doors on the right side of the room that Arwen had not noticed before. They sat behind a pillar and were partly obscured by one of the banners, though they swung open after a moment, light spilling through onto the patterned stone floor. 

“Do you want me to go through the doors?” Arwen asked. The man did not reply, continuing to gaze at her. 

“I think you do,” she murmured as she turned on her heel and made her way to the doors, walking through them without looking back. 

Throngs of elves were milling around the vast ballroom, though they seemed to subconsciously part as she moved through the crowd, never acknowledging her presence. Three people stood at the top of the giant stairs, the king appearing to be on the left while an elf with dirty-blonde hair stood in the middle, the same brown-haired Edain she saw in the other room standing on his right. Only one Edain that she knew of had ever been welcomed into Nargothrond, this city had to be Nargothrond if the crests decorating the walls were accurate. 

Túrin Turambar bowed deeply before King Orodreth and smiled at the crowd, his eyes meeting Arwen’s as the king raised his arms to the crowd and opened his mouth to speak once more, though no sound came out. The man descended gracefully down the stairs and she watched again as he slowly pushed his way through the crowd, coming within feet of her though he did not stop long enough to even give her a passing glance. If she didn’t move quickly he would disappear into the crowd. Then again, could she even trust him? It was an excellent question, at least in her mind, but she did not have time to answer herself. Arwen took off after the man, not even slowing down as he passed through yet another door and promptly vanished from her sight. 

Light blinded her as her feet crossed into the next room and she threw her arms up to shield her face, promptly skidding to a halt. When the brightness faded to a level of dimness comfortable for her eyes, Arwen lowered her arms. She was alone in the room. Túrin was gone. 

A large fireplace covered half of the smaller wall on the north side of the room, the soft firelight casting flickering shadows that crawled throughout the room. Besides this addition in the wall, the room was devoid of furniture and other objects. In fact, there were not even windows that Arwen could see. It appeared that the only source of light came from the fireplace. 

“What is this place?” she murmured as she moved closer to the fireplace, stopping in her tracks when a shadow fell over her. A chill coursed through her veins and no amount of huddling lessened the sensation. It was when she turned towards the eastern wall that she saw it. 

The shadow of a massive wingless dragon covered the wall, its tail flicking back and forth as its mouth opened, revealing razor-sharp fangs. There was nothing in the room that would cause her to see this, yet another, smaller figure quickly materialized beneath the dragon. The figure’s long sword pierced the dragon’s underside and the beast scattered into ashes as the man swung the sword towards himself and drove it deep into his stomach, the blade shattering before the figure also vanished into ash, the shadows pooling on the bottom of the wall in a formless sea. 

Her legs refused to budge and Arwen found herself trapped in place, unable to move as the shadows shifted once more, taking the shape of two figures fighting. The shorter one continued to strike blow after blow and from what Arwen could discern, on the verge of disarming the other, when a third figure materialized above and shot them in the back with an arrow, giving the tall one the opportunity to stab the other before they all dissipated into ash just like before. 

A large army took the place of the small struggle, shadow banners waving in the imaginary wind, though one banner held more than cloth. A figure was tied to the banner and dipped with the movements of the troops, though they never gave any indication of life. Were they dead?

“You are in danger, young one,” a smooth voice said, echoing throughout the large room. Arwen slowly turned around to find Túrin standing in the corner near the fire, the shadows flitting across his somber face. A sword rested at his hip and a helm was in his hand, though he wore no armor that Arwen could see.

“What did you say? How am I in danger?” Arwen asked. “Is it Gostir?” 

The man shook his head and moved his hand to the hilt of his sword, forming a loose fist around its handle. “No, though the dragon is a threat. You cannot trust-” 

His words faded into nothingness before his sentence was finished, though Arwen did not have sufficient time to process this development. The shadows on the wall quickly spread throughout the room, plunging her into darkness before her eyes opened and she winced at the bright rays of the early morning sun filtering through the light tree canopy. 

That was right. They were traveling to Mithlond. It was only a day’s ride away now if her memory served her right. They would arrive in the evening. Arwen spared a quick glance at the sleeping elves before making eye contact with Haldir. He had volunteered for the second watch after daeradar last night. Túrin’s words echoed through her mind as she stood up and stretched, her bones creaking in protest. There would be no answers here. Only when she reached Mithlond would she be able to find the answers she needed, she hoped. If not, Arwen was not sure what she would do. Someone or something was untrustworthy. It was simply a matter of discerning the truth if there was a secret being kept from her. She could only hope that her dream was wrong, though they had not led her astray yet and a significant portion of her doubted that they ever would. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave Celebrimbor silver hair because why not lmao


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arwen has a disturbing dream, revealing truths that had been kept hidden.

Mithlond, being on the coast, was freezing in autumn and Arwen had to pull her cloak closer to her body to suppress the chills running through her. She had become used to the warm weather of Ithilien and frankly missed not requiring multiple layers to feel warm. Even though her elven blood was stronger than her father’s and she had already made her choice, she and her brothers were still more susceptible to the cold than full-blooded elves such as Tauriel and Legolas. She shot a glare at the latter elf, strolling along the path in a tunic and simple pants. He, like her, was also wearing a cloak but it simply fell against his back as he looked unbothered by the ocean breeze. 

“You can take my cloak if you need it, meleth. I don’t need it.” 

Arwen glanced over at Tauriel and shook her head, brushing her fingers against the other’s hands before putting them behind her back. “We’ll be inside soon, but thank you. What I would really like is to talk to Círdan before we all retire for the night. From what I can tell, this author spent time on Balar before the entries in Quenya abruptly end and Celebrimbor begins writing. Since Círdan lived on Balar for many years along with former High King Ereinion, I believe he may know who the other author was.” 

Galdor glanced back at the group following them before turning forwards once more, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. “Lord Círdan did not expect you to arrive so quickly. He had to see off a ship sailing west, though I believe that he is now back in the main house. Would you like to see him before you retire for the night?” 

“I have some matters to discuss with him, though I am not sure how everyone else feels,” Arwen responded. 

Elladan gave her a pointed look before speaking as well. “I would rather retire for the night. I am content with speaking to Círdan in the morning.” Elrohir murmured in agreement. 

Haldir and Legolas exchanged a glance before also declining to meet with the Lord of Mithlond and Tauriel squeezed her hand in encouragement, finally nodding in assent when Legolas asked if she would also like to turn in for the night. Maglor looked at her as well before sighing and moving to stand next to Galdor. 

“I will have someone come and lead you to your rooms in a moment,” Galdor said. “Lady Arwen, you can come with me.” 

Galdor disappeared into the building and returned with an elleth whose silver hair reached her knees. “This is Gaeariel. She shall lead you to your rooms. Lady Arwen, you may accompany me now.” 

Giving one last glance to Tauriel and the others, Arwen entered the building after Galdor and followed him down the winding stone halls to a set of large cedar doors carved with winding leaf designs. He opened the door for her and quickly closed it behind her, a small smile gracing his lips as he bowed in goodbye. 

The Lord of Mithlond stood with his back to her on the balcony, though he quickly turned around and greeted her with a large smile when she fully stepped into the room. He closed the glass doors to the balcony behind him and moved to sit on his desk, offering her a chair with a wave of his hand. 

“It’s lovely to see you, Arwen! I must admit that I did not expect you to arrive before midnight, though I am glad that you were able to arrive before the daylight hours ended. What did you wish to speak to me about?”    
Círdan asked. “And would you prefer to wait for the morning? You must be exhausted after your journey.” 

She was exhausted, though her curiosity far outweighed any tiredness she felt. Sleep could wait. “I am tired, but sleep can wait. This journal was not difficult to decipher with my daeradar’s help, but even after reading over half of it, I do not know this journal’s author. She mentions spending time on Balar with her brother while working with Celebrimbor, though not once does she say her name. And where I believe it was written on the inside cover, there is a large ink stain, obscuring any writing. What I am asking is do you know her? You knew of the notebook’s existence, but do you know who the original owner was?” 

Círdan’s smile melted off his face and his eyes flitted down to the floor, refusing to meet her own gaze. He did know, then. “Did she have a long scar and a prosthetic leg?” he asked quietly. 

Arwen nodded slowly, her heart constricting in her chest as Círdan took a shaky breath and ran one hand through his long silver hair. “I know who this elf is, though I would rather not discuss it tonight. When we do talk about her, it will be a rather long discussion. There is a lot you do not know, Arwen, and it must be explained in the right way. For now, I think we should both retire for the night. It has been a long day.” 

Before she could respond, Círdan had already made his way over to the door and opened it, giving her a look. She slowly rose from her chair and walked out of the room, watching as the shipwright closed the door and locked his office before leading her down the hallway, presumably to her room. It was pointless to argue with him, she knew that much. The identity of the mysterious author would have to wait for tomorrow. 

***

_ It was pouring, though the rain did not seem to touch her skin or wet her hair. In the distance, she could see flames leaping into the sky from what appeared to be the docks or port of entry, and some of the roofs nearby had also caught fire and were quickly burning to ash despite the water. Distant screams and the sound of swords clashing rang in her ears and as she turned around, two figures suddenly came into focus, though neither seemed to notice her as they continued to trade blows with their swords. The elleth was the same one from her dream, it was the author! _

_ Arwen ran to stop the fight but was thrown back into the wall by an unseen force and found herself unable to do anything more than stand and watch the fight continue, presumably to the death. The ellon was tall and imposing, his red hair flowing down his back in a single braid. His right arm had a shield strapped to the forearm and she could see no hand, though his left hand held a sword that he used to continually attempt to strike the elleth. Each time she either parried or simply moved out of the way, though it was clear that both of them were losing energy and slowing down. The red hair, the missing right hand, and the fire all around her, it was as she feared. She was in Sirion and the ellon before her had to be Maedhros Fëanorion trying to kill the author.  _

_ However, it quickly became apparent that he was losing the fight, as he continued to lose ground and work on the defensive, forced to parry each strike the elleth gave. She was shouting at him but Arwen could not hear any words come out of her mouth. Nevertheless, the fight continued and Arwen watched as in his effort to shield himself, Maedhros left his side open. As the elleth moved to strike, an arrow flew from the sky and struck her in the shoulder. Her face contorted into one of shock and pain as her sword fell out of her hand, dropping to the ground with a sharp clang. Arwen tried to move closer but was thwarted again, resigned to watching in horror as Maedhros drove his sword into her abdomen before pulling it out sharply and letting the elleth drop to the ground wheezing. She frantically searched the skies for the origin of the arrow and to her horror, settled on a familiar face. The gaze of her daeradar was the last thing she saw before Sirion dissolved into darkness, taking her with it.  _

_ *** _

Sleep had eluded him, leading Maglor to venture out to the beach early in the morning to watch the sunrise over the waves. He felt closest to his former home in Mithlond and Círdan was good company. Despite everything he had done, even to the shipwright’s own people, he was still kind to him. The elf was the closest thing he had to a friend. 

At the sound of footsteps crunching through the dry sand, Maglor turned around ready to respond, only to falter at the furious look on Arwen’s face. The scowl was deeply etched into her face as was the furrow between her brows, but what set him back the most was the betrayal in her eyes, the absolute anguish. 

“Arwen? What’s wrong?” he asked softly. Nausea swiftly set in as she continued to stare at him and his heart rate sped up, though he did his best to calm himself and wait for an answer. 

“I saw it. I saw Sirion and I saw what you did. You killed her. Did you even know her? Have you been lying to me, to all of us this entire time?” Arwen hissed through gritted teeth. Her voice was low but the malice in her words was impossible to miss. 

Out of all of his regrets, his failures, and his mistakes, that one was truly one of his greatest failings. He murdered one of his only friends left on Middle Earth. Even after Alqualondë, she did not shun him as the others did. He knew that her anger ran deep, though she gave him the benefit of the doubt, even though he did not deserve it. 

  
Maglor did not want to look up. He knew what was awaiting him.

Arwen stood glaring at him, anger, pain, and confusion shining in her eyes. "Who was she?!" She demanded, staring Maglor down.

He could not meet her gaze, instead almost cringing and exhaling his next words as if he only intended himself to hear, his voice breaking. "Vórime..."  _ My best friend. A victim of our arrogance and greed.  _

“All this time, you knew. You knew it was her journal, her life that I was reading about. Did you protest simply because you did not wish for me to learn your secret? Was it not out of my well-being after all?” Tears brimmed in the corners of her eyes and she haphazardly wiped them away with the sleeve of her tunic. “You killed her in cold blood, Maglor. That is a sin for which you will never be forgiven!” 

Maglor could only watch as Arwen stormed away, not sparing him so much as a glance as she returned to the main house. A part of him ached to run after her and tell her the truth of the matter, that Vórime was going to kill her brother and they had just lost the twins, he could not stand to lose the only family he had left, though he knew that was not entirely true. As cynical as she was, Vórime would never take the life of another elf. She was not him.

“I failed Arwen just like I failed you, meldë. I lied to her because I did not want her to know the truth of my actions, not when she already knew that blood had stained my hands. I thought it was better that she did not know. She would be able to focus on the mission ahead of her. That wasn’t true, though. My own selfish machinations were at work, here. I did not want to remember my horrific actions. I did not want to see the pain Arwen would inevitably feel for you, even though you are long dead and buried,” Maglor cried softly, his tears making small wet spots in the sand. Tremors wracked his body and he collapsed into the sun, finally rolling onto his back and focusing on the sky. “Forgiveness is not something I deserve, not as long as I live.” 

***

_ Maedhros had left to search for Elwing and the silmaril, bidding for Maglor to look for a way out of the mess. The guards of the city were largely taken care of, though it was only a matter of time before reinforcements arrived from the nearby Isle of Balar. They had to be gone before then. Maglor knew that.  _

_ Despite this knowledge, he continued to run back to the alleyway where it had happened. He had no time to think about his actions or even process his horror before Maedhros was urging him to follow and to leave the broken figure of his friend behind. He had to go back, he had to see if he could save her.  _

_ His feet were soaked through his boots as he ran through the rain and skidded to a stop before the alleyway, desperately scanning for Vórime. Maglor’s eyes fell on an elleth propped up against a stone wall. A trail of blood followed her and he could see a pool slowly growing beneath her body as she futilely attempted to staunch the heavy bleeding with her cloak.  _

_ “Vórime!” he shouted, running towards her as soon as he shook himself out of his stupor. The elf did not respond to him, continuing to try and apply pressure to the wound, though her eyes were not focused on the task. Instead, they appeared fixated on a point in the sky.  _

_ Maglor fell to his knees next to her and grabbed the cloak out of her hands before pressing it against her side himself while maneuvering her so that she leaned up against him rather than the wall.  _

_ “You’re going to be okay, just breathe. Don’t fall asleep, just breathe. Stay with me. Stay with me,” he murmured. There was too much blood. In the back of his mind he knew that it was too late but he had to try, he had to save her. If he didn’t- _

_ “Erestor? Is that you?”  _

_ Her voice was so soft he nearly missed it in the flurry of blood-filled coughs that followed. A trail of it had been tracked down from her mouth to her chin, though Vórime did not seem to notice. Her eyes were now fixated on him and a small smile adorned her face.  _

_ “I’m glad you’re here, onóro. I’m sorry. I didn’t say goodbye this morning. I was leaving so early and you were still asleep, I didn’t want to wake you,” she rasped. “It is you, isn’t it?”  _

_ Maybe it was wrong. Maybe he should have told her the truth. He didn’t know.  _

_ “It’s me, onónë. I’m here,” he whispered. He let go of the cloak and scooted back so he sat against the wall before moving Vórime so that her head sat in his lap as he carded his hand through her long inky curls that had come loose of her braid. “Don’t worry and don’t be sorry.”  _

_ Vórime started coughing again and he carefully rubbed her back to the best of his ability, sighing in relief when they ceased and she began to smile once more.  _

_ “I’m sorry, Erestor. I won’t be there for your begetting day. It’s so soon, now. It’s your begetting day soon. I made you a gift, too. I know you said that you didn’t want anything elaborate, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted it to be special. It’s your begetting day,” she whispered.  _

_ “It’s okay. You don’t need to be there. It’s okay if you aren’t,” Maglor choked out. His tears continued to blur his vision and the lump in his throat had become massive but he couldn’t stop now. He owed her this much. “What did you get me, Vórime?”  _

_ For a moment she didn’t answer and Maglor feared that she had already slipped away, though her labored breathing continued on.  _

_  
_ _ “Do you remember the music box amil made you? Back in Tirion when you were still a small child. You loved it so much. I had to get Thranduil’s help, but I made you a music box. He even gave me a tune to put in it. I didn’t remember what atar and amil would play. I’m sorry.”  _

_ “It’s okay, onónë. I feel blessed that you made me something. You have always been so talented,” he murmured.  _

_ Vórime’s lips were completely red with blood now and her breathing became more shallow by the moment.“I’m so tired, Erestor. I’m tired of it all. I’m sorry.” _

_ “It’s okay,” Maglor whispered. “Vórime?”  _

_ The elleth did not respond, her glazed eyes staring up at the sky above them that continued to pour. _

_ “Please wake up,” he sobbed. “Please. Don’t do this to me. Don’t do this to Erestor. Please!”  _

_ He closed her eyes and set her down gently against the wall before draping her cloak over her shoulders, covering the wound. The sound of pounding footsteps barely registered in his mind until they were nearly upon him and he scrambled up the wall nearest to him onto the roof, his feet hitting the shingles as the group of elves made their way into the alleyway. Oh no. _

_ Erestor stared at his sister with an expression Maglor could not begin to describe, anger and anguish mixing together as the elf came face to face with his sister’s corpse before he slowly looked up, his eyes meeting Maglor’s. A tall healer ran to the dead elf’s side and he saw Ereinion Gil-Galad raise his spear in readiness. He had to leave. Still, he spared yet another glance at Erestor. It was impossible to tell with the rain soaking them all, but he believed that he could see the tears begin to slip out of the younger elf’s eyes as he screamed in sorrow. Maglor turned away from them all, running across rooftop to rooftop in search of an escape as Vórime’s dead eyes continued to haunt his mind.  _

_ *** _

“I know who you are. Go away!” Arwen growled into her tear-stained pillow. “Stay away from me!” 

“I will not,” a soft voice replied. “You deserve to know the entire truth of what happened. I am not trying to defend myself, Arwen. I simply want to tell you the truth.” 

“...if you lie to me again....”

  
“I will not,” Maglor replied.    
  
“Then say what is on your mind. Just remember that I am not obligated to listen.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was actually super excited to write this and I think I'm pretty happy with how it turned out!
> 
> Gaeariel - Sindarin for "Daughter of the Sea"  
> Onóro - Quenya for "brother"  
> Onónë - Quenya for "sister"  
> Amil - Quenya for "mother"  
> Atar - Quenya for "father"  
> Meldë - Quenya for "friend"  
> Meleth - Sindarin for "love"
> 
> Another quick note - With Arwen being cold, I have no canon validation for this. More or less I just wanted to see her slightly resentful of Legolas for never wearing warm clothes, even when it is absolutely freezing outside.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and Kudos are always appreciated :)


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